


What's he got that I don't got?

by Not_an_American_kid



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: & requited love, Aggressive Joker, Bruce has depression and PTSD, Bruce is oblivious, Bruce realizes his enemies are humans too, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Lovestruck Scarecrow, M/M, No Harley Quinn, Obsession, One-Sided Relationship, Out of Character, Possessive Joker, Rehabilitation, Romantic Tension, Sad Batman, Scarecrow has BDD, Secret Identities, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_an_American_kid/pseuds/Not_an_American_kid
Summary: ON HIATUS, BUT NOT ABANDONED!Scarecrow is stepping up his game, and Batman is soon considering him his arch nemesis. Joker is not happy about this.(Also my first fan-fic, not gonna be good, especially since English is not my first language)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, i know fairly little about Batman except for the animated series, and this is my first fan-fic, so this will likely be very bad. Just think of it as a test or something. Also Batjokes is OTP.
> 
> This is also written on my phone.

PROLOGUE

Bruce woke up in his bed, his palms and forehead drenched in sweat, and as he shot up he felt a horrible pain spark through his back, horrible enough that he collapsed back onto the sheets, his heart beating hard against his chest and head throbbing in pain and nausea. The room was completely dark, save the light polluted Gotham sky outside his window. He lay there in silence with wide open eyes until his heart rate slowed down and he could breathe out of his nose.

The events of the previous night slowly flowed back into his memory, and he sighed, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. He fought the Scarecrow, he remembered that, but everything after that seemed too surreal to be reality. Visions of blood and the sound of a gunshot, over and over again. _Ah_ , _the fear toxin_ , of course. He had managed to get home before the toxin took over completely, and Alfred must've gotten him inside and taken off his suit. Bruce grasped at his own skin; he was only wearing the black fabric suit he wore under the kevlar armor.

At first, he was glad he had gotten home and was safe, but the fact the Scarecrow had escaped so easily, almost without a fight, angered him, and he had to remind himself he couldn't get too enraged or his heartbeat would speed up again. The anxiety that he might've hurt Alfred while affected by the toxin was what made him get up from the bed, even though all of his limbs ached as if he had been beaten unconscious with metal pipes, not something like a toxin.

After he had made his way outside and into the living room, Alfred was sitting in an armchair, a book in one hand. He looked up as Bruce stepped closer. "Ah, Master Bruce, you're awake.. Thank goodness, you really were out of it, you were paralyzed with fear.." He closed the book and stood up, walking over to Bruce and inspecting him carefully, narrowing his eyes as he spotted a few holes in the suit. "I'll have to sew it up later..." He scoffed, raising an eyebrow as Bruce walked past him towards the entrance to the batcave. "And where are you going?" Alfred enquired, following him, obviously not intent on letting him go out again.

"I'm going to write up info on the new fear toxin formula..." Bruce growled, throat feeling strangely hoarse and parched, but he said nothing to Alfred. They silently went down into the Batcave, and Bruce sat himself in front of the computer, opening a document describing all the different fear toxins the scarecrow had poisoned him with. "He must've improved on the formula somehow, as the effects kicked in almost immediately, i barely managed to get back home before i was blinded by hallucinations..."

He began typing the symptoms and effects up, Alfred calmly standing behind him, face blank and arms crossed behind his back. "The psychiatrist, or the scarecrow, has gotten a lot more active lately, don't you think? You've spent all month trying to chase him down." Alfred didn't look at Bruce as he spoke, though did glance at him when he heard the keyboard typing stop. Bruce sighed deeply, running his hands through his dark hair. "He keeps getting away.. He keeps finding new ways to screw me over. It's almost getting more tedious than the Joker." His tone was hard and cold, realizing that the Joker had barely acted up lately, only a few minor crimes that Batman had stopped immediately and then flown off to find the Scarecrow.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred put his hand on Bruces shoulder, sighing when he didn't receive an answer. "I will be taking my leave then. Please get some rest once you're done with this." And with that he walked off, leaving Bruce fo stare at the computer screen, frustrated and exhausted.

 

 


	2. Thrill of the fright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read on a wiki that Scarecrow has no fears other than Batman, and since he's addicted to fear he confronts him just to be afraid. Kinky.

**CRANE**

 

The police sirens were wailing through the darkened streets, and the bat symbol hung on the clouded sky, looking down upon the broken city, casting fear into the hearts of lowly criminals. Jonathan Crane was running, sprinting across roof tops, desperately clutching onto a bag in one hand, hearing the bat close behind him, his heartbeat galloping and lungs burning, legs so sore they felt numb, and adrenaline rushing through his veins, like euphoria, the thrill of the fear. Even though his blood was boiling and his bones aching, he wouldn't stop running, he couldn't. The chase seemed like it had gone on for hours, never ending even though both were exhausted beyond measure. Eventually, Crane stuttered to a halt, hands planted on his knees and breath heaving and panting, unable to run anymore. _No, you can't stop, you have to run, RUN!_ But his whole body screamed in protest, his vision blurring and cold sweat running up and down his skin. He could sense Batmans presence without even hearing him. "Scarecrow, I don't want to fight. Give yourself up." His voice was more gruff and deep than usual, and when Crane looked up, he saw that Batman was wearing what seemed to be a gasmask, no doubt to protect himself from the fear toxin.

Though he was completely out of breath, Crane managed to speak, head bowed down. "I'd rather have you break.. every bone in my body than.. go back to that rotting asylum..." He stood up and stumbled backwards, eyesight blackening and muscles stiffening, suddenly losing his balance, falling backwards, over the ledge of the roof, but before he could even comprehend the situation, Batman lunged forward, and for a moment Crane feared for his life, but immediately afterwards felt himself getting pulled back by the bat, his body too weak to pull away, breath hitching in his throat. _He's gonna take you back! You have to run!_ Crane tore himself away from the man in front of him, falling onto the ground, crawling back against a brick wall, overwhelmed and exhausted. Everything was a dark daze, and the silhouetted figure in front of him only came nearer. The fear flowed over him and he loved it, relished it. Batman was the only thing that truly brought him fear anymore, and he needed it. He would've enjoyed it a lot more if he wasn't threatened with the possibility of getting locked into Arkham again, though. "Don't come any nearer.." He rasped, reaching after his bag, pulling it to his chest and pulling a small vial out of it. "There's enough toxin here to kill you..." He knew it was an empty threat, but he had nothing else he could do.

"Scarecrow, listen to me, give yourself up and I won't hurt you." Batman spoke to Crane as if he was a child, as if he was afraid Batman would hurt him. He was more afraid that the chase would stop. If he was taken back to Arkham, lord knows how much time he'd have to stay imprisoned there. When the bat reached towards Crane, not with a fist, but with an open palm, Crane mustered all of his strength and stood, running even though he could've screamed in pain, jumping down onto an escape ladder and into an alley, not stopping, the adrenaline too much, and it was only after he had hidden away into safety he realized that Batman hadn't tried to chase him down, and that a familar clown character had watched as he ran.

 

**BRUCE**

 

He'd let him get away again. Bruce was sitting at his desk, hands wrapped around the back of his head, cursing himself. He had let a runaway prisoner go because he felt sympathy. How would he know Crane would run away? He looked as if he'd pass out. Crane had killed before, and probably would again for the sake of his sick research, and Batman had let him. Who knows how many innocent civilians could be poisoned now? The cryptic note he had found on the police stations roof earlier didn't help either. A pink piece of paper with the words "Batsy, meet me at this address, we need to talk. Love, J" and underneath a scribbled street number and a large uneven lipstick stain. Obviously it was from the Joker, but what did he want? Bruce had almost gotten his hopes up that the clown prince of crime had finally stopped trying to get him killed, after he had put off their fights for so long in order to find Crane. But it seemed that was not the case. Alfred discouraged him to go, reckoning that it's just a trap, but Bruce wanted to go, maybe the Joker was gonna be civil and he could arrest him.

After a few minutes of beating himself up over Crane, Bruce donned his suit and set off to find the villainous clown. It was easy to spot him, even though it was night time, with his bright clothes and white skin. Batman landed on the roof a good distance away, pulling his cape over him just in case Joker had the idea to shoot him immediately. To his surprise, he just stood there, staring at him for a moment before speaking. "Batsy, pray come a little closer, you're like a shy cat!" He smiled, though nothing about it seemed authentic. "What do you want, Joker?" Batman scowled, taking a few steps closer and letting go of his cape, keeping hands near his belt. "Oh batsy... You've been so cold lately. Whenever i set up one of my shows you just swoop in and beat up my goons, put me in handcuffs and fly off. Where's the passion, the hatred? Have you lost interest in me? Of course, i've heard and seen.. You running around with that little raggedy-andy, chasing him, pursuing him, offering your earnest sympathy and help, making him your arch nemesis.." His voice was playfully tragic, resting his head against his hand.

"What are you talking about?" What was he on about? Passion? Passion about arresting a deadly insane criminal? Bruce had no obsession that the Joker seemed to have, he hated him, despised him for all the horrible things he had done. But to say he didn't sometimes miss the thrill of a deadly fight, someone that was a match to his strength, someone like the Joker, was a lie. The clowns smile widened and he walked over to the bat, almost chest to chest, fists clenched at his sides. "What's he got that i don't, huh?" He cackled, eye twitching. "Is it his toxins? Is my laughing gas not enough? Is it his silly hat? Is it his straw brain? His violent dancing?!" His tone became more strained, in an aggression Bruce had never heard before. "Are you going to tell me i'm not your greatest enemy anymore? That, that SCARECROW is taking my place?!" He backed off, his back turned and shoulders raised to his head. "You're mine, don't you get that?! Don't you understand, huh, Batsy? WE'RE supposed to be chasing each other, you're supposed to hate ME! I will shove his stupid hat down his throat so far his organs will burst if he lays a damn finger on you ever again.." He ranted, knuckles showing clearly through the white gloves, teeth clenched and a deep frown on his face, though it soon faded back into a wide smile and he turned back towards Bruce.

"Batsy, darling... To have a healthy relationship we have to trust each other... I would never let another villain kill you, because that honor is reserved for ME, but not until we're done playing. Are you so cruel that you would abandon me? Throw me away like i'm nothing?... I ask you again.. What does he have that I don't?" His muscles relaxed and he crossed his arms, looking patiently at the Bat, head cocked and smile gentle. "Joker, i chase whatever criminal is the greatest threat for the citizens of Gotham, and Crane has strengthened his toxin. If you believe any sort of passion or intimacy is involved for me to chase down deadly criminals, you truly are a madman." Bruce was almost disgusted. The Joker regarded this as a game, and the deaths of innocent people was just part of it. To win the game, either of the players had to kill the other. There was no other way. But Bruce had persisted thus far, and he wouldn't stop now. He stepped foward, taking both of the Jokers hands and looking him in the eyes, and though his gaze was stern the Joker only smiled and looked back in what Bruce could only describe as a loving manner. He then handcuffed the thin white wrists. "I'm taking you to Arkham." In response, the Joker sighed and scoffed. "Guess a poor man could only hope for so much.. And i thought you were being romantic." He went into the car without fighting back, and the delivery to Arkham was without any issues. 

Bruce didn't go to bed that night. The sun had already risen when he got home, and he was hit with too much guilt and anger to even think about sleeping. The Joker killed solely to get his attention, and he had let Crane go. He was a poor excuse for a vigilante, he was pathetic, weak, and the reason that so many innocent lives were lost. Alfred came by at 6 am and sat with him, telling him that Gotham would never be perfect, but Batman had saved too many lives for it to be pointless. Bruce didn't feel any better, but at least someone cared. He didn't cry, but he might as well have with the amount of emotional turmoil storming in his chest and head. 

 

There weren't any news of Crane until a week later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe,, batcrow is true OTP?? Idk.


	3. Different kinds of obsessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarecrow reflects on Batman. Joker does the same.

**CRANE**

Crane entered his apartment, his whole body aching and hands quivering, and with a deep sigh he pulled off the scarecrow mask, brushing back his brown hair and looking down at the refashioned burlap sack, frowning at some obvious tears and cuts that weren't there before. The apartment was cold and unwelcoming, littered with research papers and the unbearable stench of chemicals that Crane had grown numb to at this point. Everything in him hurt and the majority of the fear toxin samples in his bag had shattered and gone to waste because of his reckless escape. 

"That.. damn... bat." He fell into his chair, elbows on the desk and palms covering his eyes. He wanted to sleep, rest, mend his tired body, but there was too much on his mind. The night was a complete failure. He had attempted to filter small samples of his much improved toxin into a building when Batman had found him, and the chase began. He didn't even get to see the results, and with how tattered his legs felt he was in no shape to attempt again the next day. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

_That damn bat. Why can't i break him?! What can i do to break him? Why is he the only fear that gets me high? I want to see him suffer, submit to his fears, oh i want to see what dark horrible fears he has hidden under that black mask. I want him to break, i want to break his mind in half and see what's in it. I want to terrify him. I want to be terrified by him._

Crane groaned, shaking his head and looking towards his research table. Vials of chemicals were carefully arranged on a rack and countless stained papers with confusing codes and numbers were carelessly stacked on top of each other. He had to work. He was too tired. The clock was ticking in rhythm with his growing migraine, and he wondered if it was the new toxin that had rendered him so suddenly ill before. More experiments to worry about, he thought. He had to sleep, god he had to sleep; it almost felt humiliating, that a man of such villainy as himself was so embarrassingly human at the moment. Tired and aching, confused and annoyed.

He barely got out of his ragged costume before falling into bed, pulling a grimace as the mattress was much less comfortable than he'd expected, which only made his aches more apparent. The lights were still on, but he didn't bother going to turn them off. He was used to sleeping under blinding fluorescent lights when he was in Arkham. Lying down didn't help. He did nothing but think and it tore his brain to shreds.

_If i perfect the formula, if i get it just right.. i could see him screaming, crying, so afraid and so terrified he can't even move. He will sob about his visions, his fears, everything that scares him, all of his worst nightmares, and i will know what that damn bat is. Is he even human? How else would he resist the toxin, again and again? Maybe that's why I'm afraid of him. Too much bat and not enough man. All those damn hallucinations of those horrible creatures every time he turned the toxin to me. What a coincidence, he's dressed up as my own phobia. It's kind of poetic. I want to see him afraid, and i want to be afraid because of him. Oh shut up and sleep. I'll work tomorrow._

__He fell asleep in a slurry of thinking, and his dreams were dazed, dark, with vague images of the Dark Knight and, like all of his rare nightmares, bats.

 

**JOKER**

The cell was quiet, and uncharacteristically, so was the rest of the asylum. The Joker hated it. He often amused himself by listening to the tortured screams and ramblings of his fellow inmates, but tonight, it was silent. He was left to himself. The handoff had been simple. Batman, following Jokers attempts to find out how he could suddenly be chasing after another criminal, drove him to Arkham where he was put on sedatives and into his cell. They wore off quickly though and they had to put him in a straight jacket, per usual. It was terribly boring, so dreadful. No bright, fun colors, no blood and gore, no Batman, except the few times he would walk past Jokers cell with another villain in tow. Joker always made sure to annoy Batman enough for him to scowl then. A piece of home.

 

But Batman hadn't visited in a while. Not since he left Joker off at the asylum. The Joker hated feeling uncertain, angry, sad, or jealous. But the empty white room gnawed at his stubbornness until the hatred and jealousy boiled inside of him. Life was a circus, and even circuses had some crying clowns, he supposed. But circuses didn't have handsome, treachorous batmen and evil scarecrows either, so the thought held no comfort. He sat in the silence, thinking about Batman. How he sat on rooftops and looked down on the city he had sworn to protect, how he always met him with such an ice cold glare, how his fists dug into his skin, how they danced to a song of blood and vengeance. It was beautiful. They were made for each other. Why didn't Batman see that?

It disgusted Joker to imagine HIS Batsy dancing with another villain, in the same elegance, the same rhythm, but it was chaotic and with no harmony. He had never considered the scarecrow an enemy, the effect his toxin had was always funny to see and sometimes even useful. But he had gone a step too far. The Joker knew that the old hay stack was fascinated with Batsy, who wouldn't be? But he was fascinated in something he shouldn't be. Most other villains were interested in his brute strength, his contraptions and identity. But scarecrow wanted to KNOW him. His deepest, most intimate and private fears, the things only Batman and no one else knew of. The Joker felt cheated. HE was the one who was supposed to know Batman, all of his weaknesses, all of his strengths. Everyone knew of them, how they were each others opposites, like two magnets, hopelessly attracted to each other.

Scarecrow was different. Him and Batman as arch nemesi? HA! WHAT A LAUGH! The Joker actually burst out laughing at the thought, startling an intern that was standing outside, making them drop their coffee. When he sniffled the last few chuckles, his grin faded. Perhaps Batsy liked Scarecrow for their similarities. Their intelligence, elegance, their darkness, their hatred. They say opposites attract, but it was always rich boring people that married rich boring people. Now, Batsy and Scarecrow didn't make Joker laugh. He was seething with jealousy and rage. He wanted to skewer that glorified sack onto a spear and perch him in a field for the crows to eat. Now THAT would make him laugh.

He stayed quiet now. He was shuffling awkwardly in his prison jumpsuit, trying to locate all the scars and bruises Batman had given him, all those tokens of Batmans own form of affection that he had so generously gifted Joker with. He wondered if Scarecrow had those bruises too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very surprised with all the kudos I've received, so i thank all the people that can endure reading this hogwash. I will try posting a chapter every day, though they are short and rather plotless. This was written on my phone, so i'm sorry if the layout is annoying.


	4. So close

**CRANE**

It was 9 PM when the Scarecrow arrived behind the warehouse. He was carrying syringes and vials of his fear toxin, closely followed by a band of thugs he had hired for the night. The dark clouded sky served as a perfect cover, rendering the group almost invisible as they made their way through narrow alleys and grimy streets, no proper Gothamite daring to go outside on those streets at such a time. It was an easy way to the assembly building, full of the richest residents of Gotham, all oblivious, all the perfect targets. They stood behind the building for a while as Scarecrow ran his plan through his head, leaning against the brick wall and subconciously counting all of his syringes, rotating an empty vial in his hand when a thug spoke up. "So uhh.. What are we gonna do if the bat shows up?" As soon as the sentence ended, the vial Scarecrow was holding shattered in his grip, and small beads of blood stained the fabric covering his hands. He took a deep breath. _If you're gonna start reacting like that whenever someone mentions him, you'll get yourself poisoned_. "If the bat shows up, i'll take care of him. You just do what you're supposed to do and keep the police out and the people inside." He turned his head, narrowing his eyes at the mildly horrified thugs. "Now put your gasmasks on. This toxin is fatal if you breathe too much in..." He then dropped the shards of glass still in his hands on the ground and climbed the fire escape ladder, getting to the roof.

The thugs nodded to each other, put on their masks, armed their guns and burst in through the front doors.

 

**BRUCE**

Alfred had called Bruce upstairs to look at the TV. When he had arrived, it was a live news broadcast of a young female reporter in front of a large building that Bruce recognized from several gatherings he had gone to. "The Scarecrow, one of Gothams most notorious criminals, has infiltrated the Gotham Assembly building and taken all inside hostage. The police have not yet gone in due to threats on the hostages lives." Bruce didn't need to hear anymore, immediately running back into the cave and putting on his suit, arriving at the scene as fast as he could, seeing police cars arrive in front of the targeted building. He could hear screams of horror inside and glass being broken, and he spotted a door on the roof that had been broken into. The Scarecrow must've gone that way. He landed on the roof and ran down the stairs, hoping that no one had been harmed yet, though when he reached the main hall it was littered with bodies, all unconcious and some writhing and crying in agony. This was the work of the fear toxin of course. He saw several large man with guns at all the exits, and when they saw him they immediately ran towards him, firing their guns though Batman dodged the majority of the shots, ramming into the first attacker and swinging his fist at the next, knocking them out with quickly calculated punches, grabbing the helm of one of their guns and hitting them over the head with it, using every moment of peace to search the room for Scarecrow, but there was no trace of him. After he had finished the thugs off, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, collapsing onto the floor and passing out.

Bruce didn't know how long he had blacked out, but it didn't seem like it had been too long. He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, and the Scarecrow was standing in front of him, staring at him even. "Look who finally woke up. I knew you'd come, but I didn't expect you'd go down that easily.." When Bruce tugged at his bindings and moved his legs, Scarecrow straightened himself up, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes, studying Bruce with a dagger like stare. "I didn't want to waste my time on these aristocrats, so i just knocked them out with an inferior version of my toxin... I mainly wanted to catch you. So i brought something special." Though his face was covered, Bruce swore he could see him grin as he pulled out a syringe, filled with an unidentified liquid. "My newest formula. Of course, I can't be sure if you'll fight through this one as you have with all the others, so.." He leaned closer, voice lowering a bit. "If the toxin fails, you're gonna tell me exactly what you fear most, the very thing that horrifies you most of all in the world." He raised his hand that daintily held the syringe. "If the toxin fails and you refuse to tell me..." He gesticulated towards the unconcious bodies, and then at one of the thugs that had recovered from the beating he had received, holding his gun. "You can probably guess what'll happen." Bruce was infuriated, he wanted to latch out and choke the man in front of him, and when Scarecrow noticed how hard he was tugging at the ropes that kept him still, he, for a lack of a better word, straddled him, to make sure he couldn't move too much.

Bruce couldn't say anything. His throat burned and his wrists stung, he knew he had to speak but he couldn't. His head was still throbbing from the hit he took earlier, and he could smell the chemicals in the air.

 

**CRANE**

He was so close, so damn close to what he wanted, it was right at his fingertips. He knew the bat wouldn't be foolish enough to refuse, and even if he did, Crane wasn't afraid of murder. His chest felt as if it was burning, he had Batman exactly where he wanted, he could taste the anticipation on his tongue, and he held the syringe right where the bat could see it. "Understood?" He almost whispered, and when Batman didn't respond he smirked, shakily taking off Batmans glove, raising brows at how bruised and scarred his knuckles were, but wasn't very surprised. _He beats people up for a living, why wouldn't they look like that?_ He brushed the thought off, carefully placing the syringe at Batmans vein, drawing a deep breath before-

The doors burst open, and as soon as Crane looked towards it Batman broke free from the ropes holding him (Crane had realized he must've used one of his batarangs) and jumped free from Crane, who fell to the floor, the syringe still in his hand. Commissioner Gordon leading the group of cops that immediately took down the thug standing at the entrance, all with their guns out. "SCARECROW, SURRENDER YOURSELF!" Gordon shouted, gun straight at Crane, having barely noticed Batman before he flew off up the stairs, and Crane barely noticed himself, picking himself up off the ground and hissing in pain, taking as many vials he could hold from his pockets and throwing them at the police group, the vials breaking and clouds of gas and liquid surrounded them, Crane taking off as fast as he could through the same exit Batman had used, but when he reached the roof the bat was long gone, and Crane ran off into the alley he had come from, cursing and shouting internally. _I WAS SO CLOSE. I HAD HIM RIGHT THERE AND I FAILED._ He felt enraged, his plans had failed once more, and he had no idea when he would get such an opportunity again.

The bat had slipped out of his grasp, and now the cops were hot on his trail. Everything had went wrong, everything, and now Crane had to go home and live with it.

 

**BRUCE**

His heart was racing, cape spread as he glided above the city, landing on a roof and taking a few breaths, trying to collect himself. The cops had saved him and the unconcious civilians in the building and maybe gotten Scarecrow, but what if they hadn't made it on time? Would the toxin have worked? Bruce had barely fought back the last dose he had experienced, and this time he was tied down, the toxin must've been strong enough to get to him. And he would have to live through painful and horrible hallucinations while the demented Scarecrow watched him like he was a lab rat stuffed with drugs. Would he have been able to tell what he was hallucinating about? Or did he just want to see Bruce suffer and be tormented? He stopped. He didn't want to think about the previous situation. He hated not being in control, being weak, being overpowered. He had to get back to Wayne manor. Back to safety. He felt pathetic and helpless. Without his strength those innocent people could've been killed. Scarecrow wasn't insane, so he would've spared blood if Bruce had done what he said, but what if he was in a similar situation with someone like the Joker? He would have killed everyone in the room no matter if Bruce was submissive or not. _What am i doing? Why am i being so weak? I need to snap out of it._

He shook his head, getting back to the batcave and undressing from the kevlar suit, looking down at the arm Scarecrow had exposed. There was a small indentation in his skin from where Scarecrow had pressed the needle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was bad.  
> THIS IS KIND OF IMPORTANT: i have decided i want to incorporate some adult themes in this fic, so the rating will be changed to mature and there will be graphic-ish sex scenes. If you don't like those things, i will have a warning on the chapters that contain those things so you can skip them, and i will then summarize the most important plot lines in the next chapters notes. Hope this isn't too much of an issue for anyone. And this will likely be a Scarecrow X Batman fanfic instead of batjokes, i apologize. Since this is my first fic im really just throwing stuff at the wall to see what works.


	5. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will contain NSFW/sexual content. If that makes you uncomfortable, you can skip it as i will write down important plot points in the next chapters summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't post a chapter yesterday, i wasn't home most of the time and was too strained to write. This will also be rather short.

**CRANE**

It was raining. Gotham looked even more grey and desolate than usual, though tomorrow, some of the filth in the streets would have been washed away. Crane sat at his desk, head bowed and one hand holding a vial of a sickly orange liquid, slowly dripping it into another container. His other hand was holding onto a pen, absentmindedly tapping it against a piece of paper, not realizing it was clicked and leaving several ink dots over his research page. He was tired. He immensely enjoyed his work, but it seemed tedious now. Every tiny mistake made him want to flip the desk over.

The rain battered against his window, loudly and unapologetically, making his concentration slowly ebb away. Eventually he placed the vial back and sighed deeply, running a hand over his face and frowning.  _Why can't i focus?! I need to get this done soon, i already have my work cut out for me, why can't i just get it done?_ He pushed away from his desk, crossing his arms and glaring at the window, sneering a bit at the horrible noise. 

The feeling was settling in his gut, and he subconsciously knew what he had to do, but he couldn't bring himself to think about it. He hated it. He hated doing it, and even hated the relief he recieved at the end of it. Doing it himself made him feel pathetic and only served to remind him of bad memories. 

Ugly. That's what they called him. Ugly, weirdo, freak, Ichabod. Anything to humiliate him. No girls ever treated him with respect, and no girls ever liked him. He could barely remember the last time he had sex. His grip on his arms strengthened, but subsequently relaxed. He scoffed before standing up and walking over to his bed, removing his labcoat and shirt before lying down, making sure to avert his gaze from his scrawny body, taking a deep breath before unbuckling his belt, staring out the window as he slid down his pants.

His breath hitched as his hand slid down into his underwear, cheeks flushing and head lowering down onto his pillow, closing his eyes and trying to think of something. Another part of masturbating he didn't like was that he could rarely think of something to think about and had to just do it out of need. There weren't exactly any women he found particularly attractive or could ever imagine in promiscuous situations. 

He let his hand slowly rub and carress his member, growing frustrated with himself until he came to an idea. Fear. Fear was such an amazing sensation, the adrenaline, the loss of control, the rush, the buzz. But what brought him fear? _Ah. The bat._ He didn't even begin to think about how absurd that fantasy was, laying his arm across his eyes and feeling his member getting erect, biting his tongue as his movements quickened, at first only thinking about realistic situations, where the bat had him backed up against a wall, or was holding him by the throat, all the things that terrified him, but god, he loved it. His hand pushed down his underwear further before going back to his erection, stroking it in a slow rhythm.

Eventually the fantasies became more predatory, more sexual. Batman grabbing him by the waist and pushing him against a wall, their bodies colliding, eyes  locking, the cold air replaced by their shared body heat. The bat putting his head next to Cranes while his hand stroked him through his pants, holding him tightly against him. Cranes rhythm became faster, more strained and he groaned, biting his lip and imagining how good it would feel, to have the bat so close, so intimate, afraid but aroused and desperate. Heat spread through his body, heart beating hard in his chest and face turning a deep red, letting out a loud moan as he released.

He lay there for a while, breath slowing down and the heat fading away, and he shook his head as he sat up, frowning at the mess on his bed and his skin. After he had cleaned up and sat back at his desk, he realized something and he nearly dropped the vial in his hand on the floor. 

He didn't just want to know the bats fears. He wanted him as a whole. He wanted everything from him. 


	6. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter summed up: Crane realized he was in fact in love with Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay in chapters; I've been especially melancholic lately and i lost all of my progress on this chapter and had to write it again.

**BRUCE**

The rain had stopped when Bruce Wayne arrived at Arkham asylum. The heavy iron gates stood tall and intimidating, glistening from the recent downpour. The reception welcomed Bruce with enthusiasm and formality, of course, that was mostly because he was their biggest donor. The young woman at the reception desk guided Bruce through the long hallways, thoroughly explaining how well things were going and how well-behaved the inmates were. Bruce knew that was far from the truth, but stayed silent, keeping his gaze on all the inmates they passed, searching for a familiar face. He interrupted the employee mid-speech. "How is the Joker doing?" His voice was flat, not eluding to any deeper meaning or familiarity with the clown.

The woman only looked offended for a second or two before smiling again. "Oh he's been doing very well lately! Quiet and not getting into any trouble. Our exceptional medical practices and psychologists are sure to keep him like that." She had a lilt in her voice, but for a moment her eyes flashed with something Bruce could not identify, though he already knew of the corruption and abuse that took place behind these walls. "Do you want to see him? He's right over here." The woman waved for Bruce to follow her, standing right at his side and batting her eyelashes, blonde hair tucked into a neat bun and icy blue eyes soft in the artificial lighting.

They reached the Jokers cell, where he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in his straight jacket, turning head and grinning widely when he noticed Bruce and the woman approach. "...Has he spoken of anything?" Bruce softened his voice, wanting to make sure that the Joker would not recognize it, even without the normal gruffness and the thick glass between them. "Not much, like i said, he has been very quiet. He has asked whether the Batman would visit soon, though." She chuckled, gazing back at Bruce with innocent obliviousness.

"Ah, i see... And he hasn't attempted to escape yet?" Bruce leaned slightly forward, arms locked together behind his back and hair matted, though he didn't look messy; he would sooner die than make a public appearance like that when thinking of all the rumor magazines. He subconsciously searched the Jokers body for any marks or bruises, not particularly fond of the inhumane treatments Arkham bestowed upon it's patients, but would never admit that he somewhat worried for the Jokers health and well-being. The womans smile faltered slightly at his question. "No, which is unusual for him. But we assume our treatments and upped security have held him down." She shuffled in place a bit, patting Bruce on the arm. "Ahem. Shall we go see to the other inmates, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce held his stare on the Joker, who only smiled back, before nodding to the woman and following her.

After the tour was done, he thanked the woman and gave her his phone number, telling her to call him if there were any news of the Joker. She blushed, smiled and lowered her eyelids and promised she would, waving him goodbye as he drove off back to Wayne manor.

 

When Bruce got home, he collapsed into an armchair, resting head against the back, taking a few deep breaths. His hair had become messy as the rain briefly returned when he had exited his car, and he ran his fingers through it, unbuttoning his collar that was uncomfortably riding up to his chin. He felt exhausted, but he didn't know why. Just the sight of the clown had set him off, made him dizzy, angry and melancholic all at the same time. Alfred didn't come to greet him, so Bruce assumed he was in the study. He felt.. lonely. Alone. Desolate. Isolated. He always preferred to be alone, but something felt wrong. So wrong.

He blamed it on a lack of sleep and went to his bedroom, untying his tie and laying the diamond clip on his nightstand, too tired to put it in it's proper case, undressing and getting into bed, frowning at how cold the silken sheets were against his already cold and clammy body. He could do nothing but sigh as he drifted off. And then the nightmares began. It was always when Bruce thought he had gotten over them, when he had almost forgotten, that they returned. A dark alley, wet cobblestone, a gunshot, a scream, bright red blood against blackness, and two crippled bodies lying on top of each other. Bruce woke up in a cold sweat. He gasped and gulped, burying his head in his hands and fighting back a sob. He shivered. The darkness outside only served to amplify his fear, and his loneliness.

Ever since he and the Scarecrows encounters had become so frequent, the nightmare about his parents death occurred much more often, whenever the fear toxin brought the memories back and forcefully drilled them back into Bruces brain. His disheveled black hair hung in front of his eyes, hands riding up and down his arms in a feeble attempt to comfort himself. He had fallen back into a depression, of course, he often did now. He usually fought through them and refused to tell Alfred anything. But this time it seemed so much worse. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing except hope the nightmares would subside and the loneliness would fade away. He briefly considered calling the Arkham employee, but decided against it; physical intimacy was not what he wanted.

 

**JOKER**

It wasn't uncommon for fancy schmansy mister Wayne to visit Arkham, but it was uncommon for him to hold such an interest in the Joker; he had lingered by the window longer than usual, and his gaze had been harder, more analyzing than it normally was. He was quite a handsome fellow, but didn't hold a light to the rough and ragged beauty Batman had. He was too uptight and snobby. Joker had seen and read the magazines that Wayne was features in, all about his big money and petit women. Joker didn't like any of those things, and he was confused by people who were so interested in such materialistic things.

He frowned. He was thinking too much about such boring things. There was a bitter, horrible taste in his mouth, most likely from the medicine he had been fed, but also because of the flow of negativity that had been biting at his brain. He had already decided he would escape Arkham; that was easy enough. He didn't know what he would do once he got out though. Disciplining Scarecrow was one thing, convcining the Bat to think of their relationship was another. 

The young blonde employee then passed the window to his cell. Something was on the tip of the Jokers tongue, something about the woman, Batman and Bruce wayne; but he shrugged it off and went back to staring at his favorite spot on the padded wall, where the remnants of a blood stain could be gleened.

 

**CRANE**

Crane had, to the best of his ability, avoided any and all encounters with the Bat since his revelation. He was afraid, for once in his life, of this. He was supposed to hate the bat, want him dead, anything but this, and it angered him to no end. He carried out most of his research and experimentation in secret, to avoid Batman hearing of it and confronting him. He felt trapped and paranoid, fighting back any of the feelings and desires that were gnawing on his subconscious, making his stomach churn and palms clammy with sweat. He had always had a bit of an obsession with the bat, he knew that, and he wasn't ashamed; Batman was a perfect target for his research. But he wasn't meant to LOVE him, want him, care about him. It was wrong, so wrong.

It was a Tuesday, 2 AM when he arrived at his location. A contact of his had spied out a safe place for Crane to continue his experimentation, an abandoned warehouse nestled deep in the Gotham harbor. The cold and rusty metal creaked under the rain that cascaded over it's roof, and the air inside was freezing. But this was Cranes best bet to avoid getting busted by the bat or any suspecting neighbors, and he would take it without hesitation. 

The toxin progressed and improved, it all seemed to go well. But without anyone to test it on, there was no point. He couldn't risk anything big, the bat would hear of it almost immediately and he'd have to go to Arkham. He didn't admit it to himself, but simply facing Batman seemed slightly more frightening than the asylum at the moment, though he quickly dismissed the thought as absurd. He settled with the fact that either he stay isolated and away from the bat with an experiment going nowhere, or he would take the risk and do as he always had done before his revelation. He groaned, leaning against his table and staring down at the scarecrow mask lying on the floor, sighing as he picked it up, fingers tightly wrapped around it as he picked up the canister of fear gas that stood on his desk. The longing for fear was far too strong for him to want to stay. 

He decided to attack the slummier part of Gotham that he was closer to. It'd be harder for the bat to find him, and the police would take longer to arrive at the scene. It was pitch black though the streets were lively and lit up. Harsh neon lights decorated the doors of sleazy bars and strip clubs, men with their hoods up conversing closely in alleyways. 

Crane found himself sneaking through a narrow alley, breath strained and visible in the cold dark air. He usually wasn't so decomposed, and certainly not so careless with his plans and locations. But he was growing desperate for another taste of horror and chaos, and eager to test his new fear gas. It was easier than he expected to get into the club; he had lock picked the back door and to his relief found that the man supposed to be guarding it had went to a backroom with a female patron. He found his way to the maintenance room, encountering a bouncer and quickly rendering him unconscious with the gas before accessing the air conditioning system and filtering the gas through. What followed was screams of terror and Cranes heart soared. 

His main priority was now to find a way to see what his creation had caused. The security area was a small broom closet located near the exit of the club and the security guard had already passed out when he got there. The screens showed people screaming, fighting, lying on the floor writhing, running around in panic and throwing any and all items they could get a hold of at things that weren't really there. They were yelling about monsters, people, begging and pleading to thin air. It was chaotic. Crane loved it. He breathed in their fear. A womans eyes met the security camera, her cheeks stained with runny make up and mouth agape in horror before she collapsed.

He felt relieved, satisfied, and a grin spread across his face. He felt complete again. Fear. What a sweet revenge. Once the chaos had died down and the people in the club had all collapsed from exhaustion or other side effects, he glided through the hallways, stepping on the unconscious body of the bouncer as he went back out the backdoor, closing it and sighing as he turned and leaned against it. And suddenly there was a dark silhouette in front of him. With a cape. And pointy ears.

 

_Fuck_

 

A quick glance at the sky revealed the bat symbol cast upon the clouds. As soon as Crane looked back at the bat, he found himself pinned to the door, Batmans hand tightly grasping his throat. "You're getting easier to catch, Crane..." The bat leaned closer, white eyes narrowing and grip tightening, lifting Crane off of his feet. "I'm not letting you go this time." Cranes head was spinning, holding onto Batmans wrist for dear life, feelings clashing against each other like warm blood on snow. He wanted this, he loved this, but he was terrified. He could only describe himself as paralyzed with fear. The bat huffed and handcuffed Crane in response to his silence, putting him into the batmobile and driving him to Arkham, watching as the employees lead Crane into the building before driving back into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry the Jokers parts are very bland, I don't really know how to write his character. I will also make Bruce more depressed than is shown in the animated series that this fic is based on, as it makes him easier to write for me.


	7. Dr. Crane and Mr. Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce decides to pay Crane a visit at the asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I profusely apologize for the title, and the lack of chapters. I hit a huge writers block AND LOST ALL PROGRESS ON THIS AAAAAAA. And also because Crane is very hard to properly write, so please tell me if he's alright.

**BRUCE**

When Bruce got home, Alfred was there to greet him in the batcave, eyebrows raised when he saw that Bruce seemed to be in a slightly better mood than usual. "What's the joyous occasion, master Wayne?" His arms were crossed behind his back, a tiny smile visible on his stiff face. Bruce took off his cowl, smiling back at him. "I caught Crane. He's at Arkham now." A breathless sigh escaped his lips as he turned to Alfred, taking off his gloves and running a hand through his hair. "Well master Wayne, that's very good news.. Chasing that scarecrow wore you down a lot, sir." 

"Well Alfred, i'm going to see him again soon." Bruce turned away, but could still tell that Alfreds brow furrowed. "And why is that, sir?" He stepped closer, curious as to why Bruce would willingly approach the person who had thrown him back into what Alfred knew was a depression. Bruce scoffed, walking over to the wall where the Batsuit would be hung, placing the cowl in it's right spot. "Crane is an interesting man... And i want to know more about him. Something tells me he'll be easier to figure out than the Joker. And of course, I won't be Batman when i meet with him." Alfred sighed, though nodded. "I guess that is a fair point, master Wayne. But please don't get too invested in such a man. Gotham still needs you." He briefly touched Bruce on the shoulder before making his way out the batcave, though cast a "Supper will be ready soon" over his shoulder. Bruce smiled again.

 

He had waited for the news to cover Cranes capture before visiting Arkham, so no one would be suspicious of his arrival. Most people only thought that Bruce Wayne was interested in the many villains that plagued Gothams streets and wanted to keep them under tight security. In some ways, it was true. He wasn't too surprised to see the young blonde woman waiting in the front hall. "Hello again, Mr. Wayne. Couldn't resist for very long, could you?" She was smirking, lips painted a bright red and eyes on Bruce in a very deliberate manner. "Of course not, Miss Quinzel..." He smiled back at her, having noticed her name tag during his last visit. "I'm here to see Jonathan Crane. I understand that the bat man had bought him here some days ago?" He inwardly cringed at the way he pronounced his own alias, inquisitively raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on the reception desk. The blonde nodded. "Yes, he was delivered to us. He is in his cell, i'll show you to it."

They were in silence as they navigated the white hallways towards the cellblocks, criminals eyeing them suspiciously as they walked by, though most were too sedated by medicine to even notice them. When they had reached Cranes cell, the former psychiatrist was sitting on his bed, staring down at the floor with a distant expression, hair matte and unkempt, a slight red mark on his neck from where Batman had choked him. Bruce's breath catched in his throat, though he wasn't sure why. The blonde woman turned to walk off, giving Bruce an almost sympathetic look as she left them alone.

Crane eventually looked up at him, sneering and not bothering to straighten his back, narrowing his eyes before standing up and walking towards the glass, nose almost touching the barrier between him and Bruce. "What do you want, Wayne?" His voice had no trace of any sort of politeness, Bruces last name dripping off of his tongue as if it was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted. Bruce ignored it.

"I came to see you. It has been a while since you were last at Arkham." Bruce kept his voice cold to match Cranes, not in the mood to hide his hatred towards the man. Crane scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "So you came to mock me?" The doctor kept their gazes to eachother, his pale watery eyes never leaving Bruces icy blue ones. He looked as if he would spit in Bruces face had there not been a glass pane between them. Bruce locked his arms behind his back in fear he would attempt to punch the transparent barrier.

"No, i did not. I came to.." His mind drew a blank. What did he come here to do? What could he do? It wasn't as if he could say anything to fix Crane, that wasn't how it worked, and he was almost sure nothing ever would work. The rehabilitation attempts on the Joker had never worked in the slightest, and though Crane had been admitted out of Arkham asylum with a 'sane' stamp on his forehead a few times before, it was only because he was good at faking, and he would return to his schemes shortly after release. The only thing that could stop most of Batmans enemies was a bullet to the head or imprisonment until they died anyway. Bruce hated that truth and pushed it away whenever he accidentally brought it up to himself. He wondered if Arkham really was the place Crane should be, and underneath his stubbornness and pride, he knew it wasn't.

When Bruce finally collected his thoughts again, Crane had raised an eyebrow in confusion, waiting for Bruce to finish his sentence. "...I see the bat has left a mark on you." Bruce decided to ditch his unfinished sentence, barely glancing at the faint red ring on Cranes skinny pale neck. Batmans hand had fit there so easily. Too easily. Too comfortably. The thought made Bruces skin crawl for a second. He clenched his own wrist tightly.

Cranes eyes widened at the sudden subject change, blood rushing to his face, whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Bruce didn't know, but the doctor quickly lowered his head, making the bruise less visible. He hissed through his teeth. "You'd be surprised at how many marks i've given HIM." He finally broke eye contact with Wayne, fists clenching for a moment as he looked away towards the wall of his cell. Bruce perfectly knew what Crane meant, but something about the sentence sounded so, so wrong, and before he could force it down, red had tinged his face and he tucked a stray strand of raven hair out of his face. He wasn't wrong, Bruce still had some bruises littered on his skin given by Scarecrow, though not nearly as many as the Joker had given him, since he was more hands-on in combat. "No, i can imagine that.. I know a lot more about you than you'd expect, doctor." Cranes eyes immediately snapped back to Bruce as he said that, furrowing his brows. "That is?" He sneered again, still bearing the cynical tone in his voice, though he was obviously curious.

"I've seen your research. Your studies on fear, your classes, your experiments, the fear gas and toxin... I am very fascinated and interested in it." It was true, Bruce would admit that he had spent hours reading up on Cranes papers, been on the computer until dawn digging up all info on Cranes research he could find, even been envious of his intelligence and experience with chemistry. That made him even angrier with the Scarecrow. A great mind gone to waste, lost to the thirst for revenge and satisfaction for his sick obsessive work, someone that could've been something greater. Bruce had been staring at the ground and fiddling with his sleeve cuff before looking back up at Crane, the frozen tact of his voice seeming to thaw a bit. "You're a genius."

 

**CRANE**

_You're a genius._ There weren't a lot of positive things to say about Bruce Wayne. He was a billionaire, a playboy, a businessman. A stuck up, pretentious pretty boy that did nothing but drink designer brand champagne in his manor, surrounded by expensive whores. Just another Gothamite aristocrat. Crane had seen the TV interviews, skimmed he magazine articles, and they always described Bruce as a devilishly handsome man with a flowing charisma and eyes that could pierce your soul. But Crane had never experienced that until now. Wayne had never been very interested in him during his last visits, so why the sudden interest? Why the sudden compliment? The interest in his work no one had ever shown, the compliment no one had ever given him, coming from BRUCE WAYNE of all people. Crane clenched his teeth. _Don't play into his charms, you idiot._

He swallowed the compliment that was festering in his brain, intoxicating in a way he'd never admit to enjoy, and frowned again, though the red on his face made it less convincing. "And what does this have to do with your visit?" His voice was monotone and seething with distaste, not giving in so easily. His hair was in his face, frizzy from not being properly cleaned and combed ever since he got into Arkham, but he had never cared much about it, and wasn't gonna copy Waynes mannerisms by fixing it. 

The man in front of him was quiet for a second, dark circles under his eyes only accentuating the brightness of his irises, the white fluorescent lights hanging above them making his pale skin seem white, black hair smoothly gelled back. Crane didn't intend to study him so intently, only realizing what he was doing when Bruce spoke again. He leaned closer, breath slightly visible on the glass, and Crane knew he would say something he didn't want anyone else to hear.

"I want more information on your research. Anything you can tell me... Arkham is in debt to me, i can get you out of here easily." Bruces voice was deeper, quiet and barely reaching Crane behind the glass. He couldn't break their eye contact. Perhaps Wayne was more devious than he thought. Why would he need his research? Why would he let Crane out of Arkham when HE was the one that donated to the asylum so it could tighten its security? Frankly, Crane didn't care. This was an opportunity worth taking. "...How?" He answered Wayne bluntly, crossing arms.

"I will ask to personally rehabilitate you. It will be easy to pay off. You will be in my home for a period of time every few weeks, then slowly we can increase the days until they assume you're ready to be released." Waynes voice was nothing but serious, and what Crane could only interpret as a smirk quirked at his lips, though it faded just as it appeared, and he wasn't even sure it was there in the first place. "They'll do anything to get more money and to not pay for the inmates. Do we have a deal?" Wayne stopped, dark brows that had been furrowed relaxing a bit. Crane was almost at a loss for words.

Crane was not intent on just giving away information on his work, but he wasn't an idiot. He could get out of this rotting asylum, he just needed to be convincing with some well placed lies. From what he knew, Wayne would take the bait without questions. He decided the risk was worth taking. "Fine. But you better keep your word." Crane raised his head, forgetting about the bruise on his neck as he did so. 

 

**BRUCE**

It seemed too easy, and Bruce knew full well this could have disastrous consequences if he wasn't careful. He had a plan. He would learn about Crane, his story, research, gain intimate information on Gothams criminal circles, and though he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to him, there was a flicker of hope that maybe he could find a way to help the doctor. When Crane had gotten out of Arkham and become Scarecrow again, Batman would just capture him again. It had taken months this time around, but Bruce had the opportunity to have more knowledge on the villains of his city, and save more innocent civilians from them. 

This was dangerous. This was too risky. This was more consequense than reward. But Bruce had made up his mind. And he nodded to Crane, looking at his wrist watch and seeing he had already taken too much time here; if he didn't hurry he would raise suspicion. "Don't do anything before you get a message from me." He then turned and left, hoping to god that this would not backfire.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, well that was way too short and very bad, i am, so very sorry. I kind of know where this is going now, but i still feel like it's a total mess.
> 
> Harley Quinns cameo is probably not foreshadowing to anything, just thought i'd somehow include her.


	8. Of all the things you could've said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce didn't expect Jonathan to be like this. (Will contain drunk Crane and tipsy Bruce.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry for the huge delay. I lost all motivation for writing because i looked way too hard at this fic and realized it was kind of trash. This chapter is quite boring, it's mostly just to establish the relationship between Jonathan and Bruce.

**BRUCE**

Bruce wasn't sure what he had expected of Crane. Well, he wasn't even sure he had expected anything. His proposal was so out of the blue for both of them, how could he have agreed? But he had, and now an Arkham van was parked outside of the gates of Wayne manor, and a villain of Gotham city sat in the backseat, still in his uniform and still in handcuffs. Bruce followed Alfred outside, talking to the arkham employee as a policeman escorted Crane into Bruces home and the room that had been prepared for him. It was going to go wrong, and he was certain of that. But it was too late to turn back, and it would do more harm than good to give up; Crane would've escaped the asylum with or without his help.

Bruce went back inside and waited at Cranes door while Alfred stayed outside, and he could hear a faint screeching of wheels as the van drove off. And suddenly everything seemed quiet. He didn't want to open the door, not in the slightest, but his pride was too stubborn to let him be a coward, and he pushed down the handle and entered. Crane stood next to the bed, a small suitcase opened on the sheets and a pitiful amount of property lay in it, unfolded and obviously not handled with care by whoever packed it. Crane looked even more of a mess than he did back at Arkham, and he didn't look at Bruce for a few seconds, even after he had closed the door behind him. The clock on the wall ticked, filling the room with an uncomfortable atmosphere, one that reminded Bruce of the police station he was taken to as a child, back when...

 

His mind drew a blank and protected itself from painful memories, and Bruce redirected his attention to the Scarecrow. Eventually he realized that Crane wouldn't speak up first, so he decided to take initiative. "...I hope the transit wasn't entirely unpleasant." He allowed himself to glance over Cranes body, and though it was not surprising, he got a bitter taste in his mouth when he noticed the faint bruises on Cranes wrists and neck; the employees hadn't been gentle when escorting him. Crane stood silent for another few seconds before finally raising his head, not turning his head completely to look at Bruce, which somewhat unsettled him. "I guess it wasn't the worst method of escape that i've gone through, Mr. Wayne." Though Bruce had assumed that he had earned some respect, the tone of Cranes voice as he uttered his name was entirely cynical. "...I'm sorry I can't give you freedom immediately. But if i let you go now, Arkham will instantly be suspicious and i will lose all credibility." To most others, Bruces voice sounded the same as always, but to attentive people, a slight quiver could be heard in his tone. Jonathan noticed it immediately. "...I understand." He looked away again, picking up a shirt from his suitcase, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Will i be confined in this room?" His voice was hard and cold as steel, glancing at the barred windows, and Bruce was quiet, not sure how to respond without offending his 'guest'. "Until i'm sure you will not escape on your own, you will only be allowed here when you're alone. You will be escorted by either me or Alfred if you go anywhere else." Instead of giving in and just allowing Crane to do whatever he wished, Bruce decided to play by the same rules and stayed professional. This was a criminal and he should only be treated as such. To his surprise, Crane suddenly smirked, and though it was clearly fake, it was unusual to see.

"So you released me from that torturous hellhole with the intention of breaking me out, but you don't trust me to be alone? Fine, i'll do as you say. But i expect the rules to be less strict as time goes on." Crane straightened his back and turned towards Bruce completely, eyes flickering from the shirt directly to Bruces eyes, locking into them with a surprising amount of confidence. "Now, unless you intend to watch me undress, i'll need to get out of this uniform." He gesticulated towards the baggy asylum clothes he was still wearing, Bruce quickly clearing his throat and backing out of the door. "...I will bring you dinner in a few hours." He almost slammed the door shut, locking it and sighing deeply, making his way down the hallway. This was a mistake. Of course he had known that from the start, but it was a lot more apparent now. He had recieved a report about Cranes mental state and medicinal needs, and though it was rather short, Bruce was appaled at the amount of prescriptions the Scarecrow was on; he didn't even know some of them, and he assumed that Crane didn't even need half of them anyway. But it was better to be safe then sorry, and not throw off the doctors of Arkham.

 

When he reached the study, Alfred was waiting for him, a frown on his face and the familiar paternal glare in his eyes. Bruce refrained from sighing, as he actually agreed with Alfreds anger. The older man immediately began speaking when Bruce had closed the door. 

"Master Wayne, this is far too dangerous, and far too risky. You have no idea whether Crane will tell you the truth about his toxin and Gothams other criminals, and what if he figures out your identity?" He wasn't shouting, and his tone was refined as always, but there was a sharpness in it akin to a parent or teacher scolding a disobedient child. Bruce could only nod. "I know, Alfred. I can't believe i did this myself." He brushed a few strands of hair out of his forehead, staring down at the floor. "But maybe i will get something out of it. Crane is valuable, he's intelligent, if i play my cards right i could get information out of him worth gold." He allowed himself to glance at Alfred. He regretted it. "But what information does he have that you don't about Gothams underground? He doesn't involve himself with the other criminals, he only cares for himself and his own experiments!" Alfred had gotten angrier, and as he finished his sentence his face softened, shaking his head slightly. "You cannot put yourself in danger like this, Master Wayne..." Bruce walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed. "Alfred, i put my life on the line every single night. This won't kill me." He backed off slightly, turning to a bookshelf that used to be an old entrance to the Batcave. "I have deactivated all entrances while Crane is here, and he will be taken back to Arkham at night for the first few days. As long as he stays in his room he won't get suspicious of me."

Alfred looked like he was about to scold him again, but he closed his mouth before he could speak and just nodded. "Whatever you say, Master Wayne." He walked to the door, casting a last glance at Bruce before leaving. "I will make dinner now, for you and the doctor." He then closed the door again, and Bruce was left alone. Fears that hadn't been there before began crawling up his back. If Crane found out he was Batman, that would be the end of him. But he had to trust his own capabilities and keep it hidden, far away from the Scarecrow.

 

Bruce didn't trust Alfred to be alone with Crane, so he personally brought dinner to him. When he entered the room, Crane was sat at the desk that was placed at the end of it, shoulders hunched and hurriedly scribbling something onto some lined paper. Bruce sat the plate down quietly, intending to leave before Crane noticed him, but it seemed the doctor had already heard him as the knife and fork were laid on the table, pencil stopping right in the middle of a word, leaving the room silent. "Metal utensils?" His voice was monotone and Bruce was for a moment shocked that he had discerned that from just the sound they made. "...Isn't it strictly forbidden to let prisoners have weapons?" Crane turned to him, head resting in his palm, eyeing Bruce with far too much interest for his liking. "I would hardly call a blunt knife and fork weapons. And you wil be eating alone." Bruce replied, standing with a straightened back, meeting Cranes gaze with confidence even though he would rather look away. "Hm." Crane said nothing else, turning back to whatever he was in the process of writing, not even glancing at the food he has been given.

Bruce stood in the doorway for a few more moments and studied the hunched figure in front of him. He had changed into a plain button up shirt and pants, hair having been combed through and the bruises on his wrists covered by the shirts fabric. Bruce couldn't recall if he had ever seen Crane in anything but the Arkham uniform, and like this he almost looked like any civilian. When Crane once again stopped writing, seemingly to speak, Bruce left the room and closed the door before the Scarecrow could ask him to leave. It was incredibly tedious to try and keep up a conversation with him, he was too blunt and distrusting of Bruce; how could he ever gain information from him if he couldn't even speak to him? He locked the door, turned around and went back into his office, completely forgetting about dinner. Tomorrow he would attempt to ask Crane about his promise, and if he didn't cooperate, he'd have to wait again. It was an impractical thought process, but it seemed to fit at the moment.

 

**CRANE**

Bruce was peculiar in his own home. Not as suave or snobbish as he appeared in public, more anxious and quiet. The house itself was huge from what Crane had seen from outside, and the room he was staying in wasn't small in the slightest, but it still had a stuffy, unfamiliar air to it, like Arkham, but more well decorated, and less cold; Wayne wasn't humble when displaying his money. His gaze went back to the pencil that was absentmindedly tapping his paper, a few scribbled chemical combinations on it, but nothing that Wayne could discern, he hoped. His hand stopped and he turned in his chair, narrowing eyes at the plate on the table. He wasn't hungry, whether it was from the pills or something else, he didn't know. His gaze raised to the door where a reinforced lock had been placed, a small red light in the corner, signalling that it was locked. He hadn't even had the chance to ask whether Wayne would discuss their plans now, he had just left without a word. That was enough to throw Crane a bit off, but he only assumed that Wayne was just uncomfortable in his presence, not entirely strange. He looked back the papers on the desk. He would just have to wait for the Arkham van to take him back to the asylum, and in a way he dreaded it. A furnished room was better than an empty white cell, even if you're a prisoner in both of them. He scoffed, lowering his head again and continuing to write. 

 

He was driven back to Arkham in the late evening, and was escorted back to his cell, one of the guards making a comment about how calm he seemed. Crane assumed this was good, as it would make it easier for the Arkham staff to let him stay in Wayne manor for rehabilitation, so he just had to pretend he was behaving more so he and Bruces plan would go smoother. And the next days in the manor proved interesting indeed.

After two days time, Bruce finally spoke to him in his room. He had entered, or rather barged in, unannounced and had sat down on the couch that was pushed against one of the walls, his hands clasped together and his tie almost slipping out of his suit, which meant he had gotten ready in a hurry. The conversation started off awkward and neither side seemed to want to cooperate, but eventually Crane did begin to tap into his career as a teacher and was able to hold the conversation above water. He spoke of his previous studies into fear and psychology, of the books he had read, and though he hesitated at first, he told Bruce about some of the classes he had taught. He had kept his gaze off of Wayne for the most part, but when he did glance at his face, it was strange to see how invested and concentrated he was on what Crane was speaking about, eyes locked on him and his still joined hands resting just under his nose. He hated the fact he loved the attention, reminding himself to keep his more intimate studies to himself before he was sure Bruce would keep his end of the bargain. Eventually Crane decided he had spoken enough, and they parted ways, Crane salvaging the looks of sincerity Bruce had given him, though not consciously acknowledging it. 

This was also the first time he would be sleeping in Wayne manor, and god, he really had to admit that the bed was like a dream come true. Arkhams benches were hard as steel and his own matress wasn't much better, but this reminded him how wealthy Bruce really was. He stopped himself mid thought. He was obsessing over a proper bed. But who wouldn't after being locked up in an asylum on and off for years on end? At least he could finally get a somewhat decent night of sleep, and thankfully he slept through the screeching of a hoard of bats as they flew up into the night sky.

 

**BRUCE**

Bruce was ashamed to admit that it didn't take many inquisitive looks from Crane before he decided to show him more of Wayne manor. He was prepared to fight should he attempt escape, but those anxieties seemed completely unnecessary now they were walking down one of many large hallways together. Crane stood only a breath away from Bruce, back hunched in what seemed an uncomfortable manner and arms crossed behind his back, Bruce only looking forward while the Scarecrows gaze circled around the walls and the ridiculously excessive decorations of paintings and priceless antiques. They were both quiet while walking, Bruce at times making an off-hand comment about one of the items they passed, and Crane humming bluntly in response. It was somewhat uncomfortable and awkward for Bruce to be walking next to his arch nemesis like this (god forbid the Joker could read thoughts), but in another way it was somewhat pleasant too. Bruce rarely interacted with anyone but Alfred, his friendship circle not extending much beyond business partners and fellow aristocrats, so having someone to wander around the manor with was oddly fulfilling in a way Bruce couldn't explain very well. They wandered through the manors library, Bruce watching silently as Crane perused the bookshelves, his diligent fingers (that Bruce noticed had coarse scars, probably from his work with chemicals) gently moving across every books spine, at the same time removing the dust on the works Bruce had not recently read or Alfred had cleaned. Watching him, Bruce found it strange to know that this very man was the scarecrow. Of course it wasn't completely suprising, he had the same mannerisms and physique, but had Bruce seen him on the street he would not have suspected him. 

He had been staring too long and not discreetly enough, and he could feel Cranes glare burn into him. "I'd appreciate if you didn't stare at me like that, Wayne." He sneered, brows furrowing before he pulled out a book; an old, yellow paged work on the connection between the human physiology and psychology, and when Crane flipped it open, a cloud of dust rose from it after so much time being unread and unhandled. They stood silent for a few seconds as Cranes gaze ran across the front pages. "This was one of the books that aquainted me with the human mind and body." His calm, yet assertive gaze flew back up to the Bruce. "I'm surprised you own it. It's ridiculously outdated... And a man like you don't seem to have any need for it." His voice was as dusty and dry as the book he was holding and Bruces heart dropped in his chest. "This was my father's library; I haven't read some of these books, not that one either." Bruce stood stoic and talked with a seeming lack of interest, though he was lying; he had read that book, and he could see how it could've helped motivate Crane's research. Crane eyed him suspiciously for a moment before smacking the book shut again and placing it back in it's shelf, walking up to Bruce with his arms behind his back again. "I assume there is more to this place?" He looked up at Bruce with distaste, but appropriate formality, waiting for Bruce to continue walking (That was reassuring, at least. Crane did not break Bruces request of not walking alone). They continued their tour of the manor, still with a coldness between them and venom in Cranes voice and eyes. 

 

**CRANE**

After they had finished seeing the public rooms of Wayne manor (Bruce had not made entry into the bedrooms and studies), and Crane had had time to forgive Wayne for staring at him (really, did he have to make it so obvious that he found him hideous?) Crane was once again taken to his room, but was pleasantly surprised when Bruce came back a few minutes later, carrying a small stack of books. He only said that he thought Crane might enjoy them, then left to do whatever the hell he did in his freetime; Crane didn't care much to know. He was intrigued to realize how much the books did cater to his interests; it was almost uncanny that Bruce knew him so well, so perhaps he hadn't lied when he said he had thoroughly researched about him. The already strange day became even stranger in the evening, when Bruce invited Crane to the longue, for a glass of wine. He had accepted, with a question or two which were left unanswered, and he was escorted there by Wayne himself, and a tray had been placed on the mahogany table, a red wine bottle and two glasses on it. They sat on two seperate couches, each with his own glass of wine, the conversation starting off slowly and awkwardly on Waynes side, at least until each had drained their glass and refilled them again, the chat turned more personal. Crane had always been a bit of a lightweight; another reason he wasn't popular at school.

"You really don't see it? You can't lie to me that blatantly, Wayne... I saw you staring at me like that." His head was hung between his shoulders, lip twitching into what was almost a scowl. Bruce sat much more stiffly, seeming like he was immune to the alcohol, and he raised a brow at Cranes strange comment, "Staring at you like what? I was only... Observing you." (Crane duly noted that Bruce was a horrible liar, or at least he was right now; maybe alcohol only affected his wits, not his body). "Observing what? My hideous face? I have a hard enough time looking at it myself, you're only driving me more mad with disgust over it." He did not mean to spill it out so quickly, and cursed himself for showing weakness before he was even sure what Waynes intentions truly were. When he looked up to the billionaires face, it almost seemed astounded. "What? Hideous?..." Bruce blinked a few times and Crane had the urge to crush the delicate glass between his fingers, but resisted and took a slow breath. "Yes, hideous. What else is there to it?" He took another sip of his wine, avoiding Waynes eyes as much as possible. He was relieved when Bruce did not respond, but it stung anyway, to know he was right. Then that clear, tediously smooth voice broke the silence again. "I can't see why you think you're hideous.." It was so smothered in ignorance and sincerity that Crane could choke on it. He would not get angry, not now, but he bit his lip hard enough to leave a mark. "You don't have to play dumb for hospitality's sake." He stared at the carpet, away from his thin, scarred fingers and Wayne's clear blue eyes.

 

**BRUCE**

This wasn't a situation he had been in before. Getting his nemesis drunk and listening to him admit to his own self hatred, it was almost unreal. Bruce had trained himself his whole life to stay stoic and unemotional, therefore absolutely horrible at giving comfort; and reminding himself of Scarecrows crimes didn't help either. But looking at the doctor did tell him something: Crane was not ugly, at least not what he considered ugly. He was thin, scrawny even, with crooked features some would indeed consider unsightly. But Bruce had barely noticed, or at least not labelled the scarecrows appearance as anything, and right now, the only word he could come up with to label him would be "delicate". He placed his own wineglass back onto the tray; he wouldn't very well have himself get drunk in front of a person he was actively trying to keep away from his secrets. "...I guess I can't convince you otherwise, but.. I do not find you ugly in the slightest." 'You're striking' He would have said too, but feared that would allude to more than he intended. Crane raised his head again and his eyes locked with Bruces. "...I.." He seemed as if he was going to argue, but his gaze showed vulnerability, and he lifted his glass to his lips again. 

The rest of the evening they avoided the subject of Cranes appearance, the doctor even revealing some snippets of information about some of the other villains, including one of the Jokers bases and contacts, but he immediately shut his mouth after that, obviously not intent on sharing more info so soon into their arrangement. Bruce escorted a rather intoxicated Crane back to his room (doing his best to ignore the fact he had actually supported the smaller man against him on the way there) and he himself retreated to the batcave. 

 

He was going to see if the base Scarecrow mentioned was still occupied by his clown fiend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, more Alfred. Cool. 
> 
> I didn't really want to make a rehabilitation fic, so i'll try to steer off that road, unless you guys want that. I am enjoying myself writing this, but since this is my first fic it is tediously frustrating at times too, so if you guys have any tips and tricks on keeping up my motivation, please tell me! (And also some good songs i can listen to while writing please)
> 
> I will also admit that the reason i have given Bruce depression and Crane bdd is because of myself. It lets me reflect in them and thus makes them easier to write, i hope that's okay.


	9. Who knew a name could do so much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets back on Jokers trail, but just when he thinks he's back in his element, something inside of him changes, regarding Crane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! It's a christmas miracle!  
> After this, there'll likely be another huge wait.

  **BRUCE**

 

Though Crane had not been very specific when naming Jokers base, Bruce knew the city well enough to find it. It was next to the harbor, an abandoned factory ripe for demolition, it's intricate brickwork worn down by years of rain and grime. The ground underneath Bruce's feet was slick with saltwater, and small pools formed in the concrete that splashed to all sides as he stepped into them. The rain fell lightly from the clouded night sky, and Bruce pulled his cape up to prevent much water coming onto his suit. The factory was so damaged that there were many entryways to choose from, gaping holes on the floor level leading into empty office rooms and warehouses. But, unsurprisingly, almost all available surfaces were covered in either blood or spraypaint, sun bleached confetti stomped into the floor and color differentiations on the walls that told Bruce something had hung there until recently. This must've been an abandoned base, considering that it was severely lacking in the macabre decorations the Joker loved setting up. No hanging bodies, no balloons, and no signs with arrows plastered on doors. It was only a cold, grey building, with water dripping from the ceilings and thick layers of rust covering every piece of equipment. Why Joker left the thing to rot, he wasn't sure. But he eventually found something truly disturbing. A large office, that he could only assume was for the boss of the factory, was torn apart by the hands of some madman, the wallpaper scratched off, bookcases collapsed, and hundreds of papers strewn everywhere. But on the western wall, there was a giant collection of photos. Of Batman.

Photos from papers, screenshots from live TV, and some he was convinced were taken by Joker himself, all messily plastered onto the wall, with a giant red heart spraypainted around it, as well as the word 'Batsy' anywhere there was enough space. Bruce felt sick looking at it. He was aware of Jokers obsession, but to know he enacted it even when Bruce was not there to see it, made his fists clench and his teeth grit. "Sick bastard..." He muttered to no one except the photos, turning around to try and find anything useful; a clue to the Jokers new whereabouts, papers written by the clown himself, or even a band of thugs that would know where the Joker had gone to. 

 

Alas, the base was desolate, nothing but the decaying remains of the Joker's 'parties' remaining. Bruce had given up, but as he walked down one of the halls, he stopped and turned towards the wall where bright green graffiti, seemingly newer than the other acts of vandalism, adorned it in huge messy letters. "BATSY, COME PLAY! @ THE <3". Bruce stood dumbfounded for a moment. When the Joker had relocated, he had made sure Bruce could somehow find him again. At the heart. So he had moved from the harbor to the middle of Gotham, somewhere in that bustling cesspool of alleyways and empty houses, the clown was waiting, pastering more pictures of Batman up on his walls. Bruce's stomach churned, but he duly took note of the graffiti.

One step forward though, and something snapped, clouds of dust and confetti springing into the cold, wet air, as a rope beneath it all strained and fastened around Bruce's ankle, hoisting him violently upwards, stopping about halfway up, the usual height Joker kept him, right at eye level. Bruce hissed in pain, his ankle twisted in a way he knew would not heal quickly, and the rope was so frail he feared it might snap and drop him into the concrete floor. As he slowly swung side-to-side while suspended upside down, much like the first part of his namesake, he managed to bend up and grasp the rope with one hand, sawing at the loop around his ankle with a bataring held in the other, and when it finally severed and his lower body fell, his grasp tightened and he was able to jump down without injury, despite his hurt and horrifically aching foot.

 

Annoyed, but at least with new information, Bruce limped out of the warehouse and returned to the manor. He was greeted by  Alfred, who shunned him when he observed Bruce's twisted, possibly sprained ankle, and Crane was temporarily sent back to Arkham to avoid him seeing the limp in Bruce's gait, to which he would obviously be suspicious, and the less suspicion to Bruce's night-time activities, the better.

 

 

 

Crane, to Bruces relief, had not questioned that he had been sent back to Arkham for a few days without warning, but he definitely did not seem pleased about it, considering his cold glares and blunt comments, but maybe he had always been like that. The small bond they had seemed to form had suddenly snapped again (probably because of the evening Bruce invited Crane for a drink), and it was frustrating to try and rebuild it when neither seemed very cooperative. Eventually they finally sat down again in Cranes room and spoke. This time more professionally, and with no alcohol involved, probably for the best.

"How did you even get the idea of a fear toxin? I have never heard of anything similar." Bruce tried to be cold like Crane, but he could not hide his interest and curiousity, and the Scarecrow could definitely sense that. The doctor looked quite different in this situation, in a black leather armchair with his legs crossed and his hair styled to the best of his ability (even though it was still frizzy and fell back into his face whenever he tried to fix it). He looked like one of the countless therapists Bruce had seen throughout his life, but somehow even more unpleasant in tone.

 

"There are plenty of drugs that have the side effect of paranoia and hallucinations." He paused, gaze averting itself from Bruce. "I was determined to find an easy way to experiment with fear, and simply researching these drugs gave me plenty of information. Of course it started out with many unwanted symptoms, but now i have almost perfected it." His face was unemotional and his voice even more so, tapping his armrest in a slow, tedious rhythm. "Of course, I haven't had the chance to continue my research since the bat caught me..." While his tone was cynical, a different, unidentifiable expression flashed on his face for a moment. Bruce felt his heart drop in his chest; he did not want to talk about Batman, that could backfire horrendously. "I'm sorry i don't have the supplies necessary for that." Was all Bruce replied with. He definitely had supplies in the batcave that Crane could use, but he was not very fond of giving Crane the opportunity to continue his crimes, and the fact he'd obviously question why Wayne would have such things when he wouldn't have reason to, other than his private detective work as Batman.

 

Crane scoffed, fidgeting a bit with his sleeve cuff. "As long as this 'rehabilitation' does not take too long, it'll be fine." He looked at Bruce again, expression softening slightly. "...I can't tell you too much about the toxin. You understand, right?" He tilted his head, and Bruce leaned back, crossing his arms. "The toxin wasn't all I wanted to know of. I'm more interested in your motives." At that response, Crane seemed surprised, and he wrung his hands. "I'm a man of science, Wayne. The modern society shuns any and all experimentation that involves pain or distress. I believe that if we cannot allow science to progress because of our own sensitivity, we will never advance. Fear is such an integrated part of us, it is in our very instinct; a day old chick will run under a bush when a bird of prey flies overhead, despite never being taught to do so. Some do all they can to hide from fear, some chase it for a cheap adrenaline rush." He attempted to make no change in tone to suggest he was part of the latter. "I am attempting to explore the effects of fear in controlled environments, as you have likely deduced from the reports of my 'crimes'." He added, and Bruce almost scoffed at the bitterness in Cranes voice when he referred to his work as a crime. 

 

"I see." Really, Bruce did not see; the lives and well-being of innocents should never be put into danger, not even for science, wherein Bruce was deeply involved. But something told him, deep inside, that Crane had a point. He was a professor driven to revenge when his vision, his lifelong dreams, were shattered by his own passions, and the people around him's ignorance, throwing his work into the gutter and his life into shambles. Guilt gnawed at his bat persona; Crane, despite the fact his actions always resulted in it, did not hurt for the sake of hurting. He did it to restore his own honor, to satisfy his own curiosity and what he interpreted as filling in the missing piece in modern medicine. And with this realization, Bruce looked at his home-bound prisoner. Crane gazed calmly back, hands laid on his crossed legs and a perfect sense of serenity filling the room. Bruce could only assume it was because he had ceased the discomfort at being in Cranes presence. Even the doctor seemed to have noticed, as he spoke more softly. "I'm glad you do." He glanced down, with so much humanity in his face Bruce couldn't forgive himself for imagining the man as nothing but a monster in all the years he had chased him down. "No one else has ever listened till the end, much less agreed." The doctor sounded ashamed of admitting this, but a smile quirked at his lips, that were almost always in a resting frown.

 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Crane." Bruce saw his companions eyes lock with his, some distaste, but no real malice in the grey orbs. "Call me Jonathan." His voice was dry and without friendliness, an attempt to compensate for his moment of open weakness, but the request was a huge display of trust. Bruce didn't exactly want to abide, since that would force him to view Crane as more than Doctor Crane, the Scarecrow, the man who performed horrifying experiments on anyone he pleased. Jonathan Crane on the other hand, was a quiet and misunderstood genius, someone Bruce did not want to hurt, who he believed did not deserve to be hurt. He briefly wondered if the Joker would be conflicted in such a way if he uncovered Batmans true identity; would he consider his enemy as the untouchable, ever fun playmate Batsy, or as the worthless, boring aristocrat Bruce Wayne? Bruce rejected the train of thought. This was not the time to think about Joker. 

 

"...If you really want me to." Bruce bit his lip, but stopped when he noticed Cranes eyes flicking to the motion. "Jonathan." The name felt alien on his tongue, so intimate and hushed, it was as if referring to someone by their christian name was still taboo, as if he had whispered the name against the man's face. Jonathan. A new man Bruce had to get to know, and despite his fear, he wanted to do so. The doctor's face seemed to redden slightly at the husky way Bruce's deep voice had uttered his name, and he forcibly fought his smile away from his face. "Thank you. I will assume you don't want me calling you Bruce, right?" Jonathan inquired, and Bruce swallowed. It was so rare for anyone to call him Bruce now, not even Alfred did so, it was almost only Selina Kyle, and that was when they were alone, when they...

 

"No. If I'm going to call you Jonathan, you'll call me Bruce." He attempted to sound casual and not forceful, but his own words seemed wrong. Jonathan blinked in confusion. "Oh." He paused, lips together, preparing for the start of a letter. "Bruce." His voice was lighter than Bruce's, more awkward, thin and ghostly in the room, but even then, Bruce shivered. The whole exchange was straight forward, just their first names, but somehow it had become jumbled up into something Bruce could only describe as a clumsy act of intimacy. For a moment, both stared at each other, considering their companion in a new light. "Well..." Bruce stood up from the couch, ignoring their fumbled conversation. "I have work to attend to... I'll speak to you later, Cra-" he realized his mistake, and involuntarily blushed. "Jonathan." It was too soft, and Jonathan smiled at how the suave playboy retraced his sentence. "I'll see you then, Bruce." The doctor nodded, and Bruce left the room.

 

He needed time to think.

 

 

**JONATHAN**

 

Once Bruce had left the room, Crane breathed out, leaning head against the chair and uncrossing his legs, sighing. The whole situation had been weird, to say the least. The way Wayne had said his name, with such carefulness and frailty, as if the syllables could've shattered on his tongue had he spoken too roughly. Staring into those ice blue eyes didn't help, either. That rugged, handsome pale face, raven hair making it look almost ghostly, eyes an unnatural glow of color against the monochrome features, glinting with repressed emotion that the businessman seemed pained to keep behind his mask. While not fully in agreement, he had also understood Crane's reasoning for the experiments he performed, and that was at least a comfort in this lonely house. 

 

Lonely.

 

Well, Jonathan didn't ever feel at true ease surrounded by people, being alone was definitely the better alternative; but he was trapped here. Not until he could be declared 'sane' would he be released, out of the luxurious manor and back into the filth of Gothams streets. That sounded like a downgrade, but at the moment, the thought of being free overshadowed that fact. He turned towards his desk, where a blank paper was laid, not yet scribbled over with hypothetical chemistry experiments. A last glance towards the door, where Bruce had left him (left him? No, he had just temporarily gone out.), and Crane returned to his empty work.

 

 

Maybe an hour later, Crane heard a click, looking towards the door and expecting Bruce there, but it was still closed; yet the small red light had turned off, indicating that it had been unlocked. Curious, the doctor stood up and carefully took ahold of the handle, raising a brow when he pressed down, and the door creaked open. He peeked out of the narrow gap, seeing Wayne disappear around a corner in the hallway. Puzzled, but pleasantly surprised, he left the room, for a moment standing still in the hall, the whole structure seeming so much larger now that he was alone. He would have to thank Bruce later, when he saw him again. 

 

 

**BRUCE**

 

 

The thick of night had consumed the last sliver of the golden sunset, leaving the city under Morpheus' starry cape. From the building he stood on, Batman almost thought it looked peaceful. The tall buildings black silhouettes against the dark blue sky, windows and lights speckling the cityscape with neon color. It was only when he heard the wailing of a police car that the knight was snapped back to reality, and suddenly, the light seemed cold and only a feeble mask over the grimy city. But it was his city, and he swore that in his lifetime, he would see true beauty in Gotham again, no matter what it took.

 

The first step was to find the Joker again. It had been a while since they had their last rendevouz, before he even captured Scarecrow. Jonathan. He swallowed a sudden bitterness in his mouth. The heart of Gotham was enormous, it could take several days to even get a sense of where Joker had settled in; Batman doubted he had lied in his message, it would only drive them further away from each other, and the vigilante knew that was the opposite of what Joker wanted. The night grew darker around him as he traversed roof tops, gliding across alleyway gaps and sneaking through the black shadows at the backs of the decrepit apartment blocks, swiftly approaching the city's center. When he knew that the night was blooming into the hours before dawn, he was ready to retreat, when a stab of neon light caught his eye. 

 

A pink neon sign, adorning a short, black bricked building sat a long ways beneath him, facing a filthy alley, yet the warmly red tinted windows did not allude to the establishment being as seedy as its surroundings. The name was what really intersted him: 'The Heart.' It made Bruce groan internally; it was obvious Joker would make his location a pun. A voice interrupted his thoughts; and it wasn't just any voice. It resonated between the buildings, and jumped straight up to the lurking bat, who quickly hid himself.

 

It was the clownish madman. His stomach churned at the sight of his purple suit as he became visible in the dark, white face displaying a wide, unnatural red smile, as always. Next to him, though, there was a shorter man, hood pulled up to hide his face. Batman listened intently to whatever conversation they were in the midst of having.

 

"So, no news of our Scary?" Joker did not look at his companion, rather in the opposite direction, and Batman was anxious that he might spot him, despite the unlikeness of that. The stranger shuffled in place for a moment. "Not since the bat locked him in Arkham. But I saw sumthin' strange..." The man whispered, and Bruce had difficulty hearing him. Joker, on the other hand, spoke just loud enough. "Say it man, I feel I might BURST in anticipation!" He exposed his yellowed teeth, eyes narrowing into a threatening slit, telling what Batman assumed to be a spy that if he did not speak, he would be dead. "I looked through the asylum files, an'... They say Crane's still a prisoner, but also that he's absent from the asylum itself. He's been transferred some other place." At that, the Joker spun on his heel, forcefully grasping the man's shoulder. "Really? Where?" His smile twitched, and Bruce begged that the spy had not found out. It would endanger both himself and Jonathan.

 

The spy visibly flinched at Jokers touch. "I.. I don't know. I couldn't find any information. Must be a secret location." The short man seemed to tense, bracing himself for a shot to the head, a stab to the chest, or some other form of deadly punishment for his lack of knowledge. Instead, the Joker ceased his grasp. "No matter, I don't care about that straw sack, as long as he's not anywhere near my Bats..." The Joker's smile shifted from a forced, twisted expression to something much softer, more genuine. Bruce could feel his skin crawl beneath the kevlar, and anger at the goddamned nicknames. He had gotten used to his own, Bats, Batsy, Knight in shining armor, whatever Joker spat out at him. But Jonathan. Only now had Bruce seen the Scarecrow as the real him, as Jonathan Crane, and somehow, hearing the Joker make a taunt out of him angered him. He had to manually remind himself that Crane was a criminal, had associated with the Joker, had done his fair share of damage to the civilians Bruce had vowed to protect. Even then, he knew that seeing his enemy as a human was more like Batmans philosophy than he had first thought. 

 

But when he looked at the Joker, this pompous amalgamation of insanity and murderous intent, he could not see a human. No matter if he knew his real name or not, there was too much blood on the Joker's hands to ever deserve to be considered a feeling human. He watched as the Joker lazily waved off the spy. "You can live another day, my useless little friend." The Joker, shot the man another devilish look, and he nodded before slinking away into the dark. The clown stood for a moment, tapping his chin and glancing about the alley, until his gaze snapped upwards, towards Bruce.

 

All Joker saw was empty air though, and with a huff, he too disappeared, but unlike the stranger, he went into the club. Bruce slipped out of his hiding place, at least aware of the Jokers new hideout, if nothing else. He had a plan, as vague as it was. Get information from Crane, and snuff out whatever scheme the Joker was concocting inside that sleazy bar. Crane. Jonathan. He had told Alfred he intended to get to know the man, but he was suddenly far too deep in that broken mind. His cape spread into the cool air, and he could see the peak of Wayne manor some ways ahead. 

 

 

He was going home. Home to Jonathan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our main men are really softenin' up, eh?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this (boring) chapter.


End file.
